In Which Our Heroine Moves Out
For those of you not in the greater Boston area, let me give you some brief insights into our weather this year. It sucketh. In fact, it sucketh rocks. Big, bad rocks. We skipped spring and went straight to summer, but summer was never warm, and it rained 70% of weekend days since March. But not last weekend, oh no. Last weekend it was in the high 90s to 100F, and humid to the nth degree. Of course it was, because I was moving out of my apartment. Now, this is a good thing. My apartment, while lovely, was very expensive and after two years of unemployment, there was just no way to afford $1300 a month in rent. So I moved out. I have no where to live until September 1, but it isn't as bad as it sounds. I know where I'm living then, and in fact most of my stuff is already there in the cellar. I (and the other roommates) are just waiting for one roommate to move out. In the meantime, I'm free and easy, and living on other people's sofas. This seems to have worked out well, as my friend needs someone to look after her kids, and I need something to do. Excellent all round.

The moving itself was traumatic. Determined to do it on my own, I just took bags and boxes and went down the stairs. All four flights. And then I went up the stairs to get more stuff. 98F outside, I don't even want to think what it was inside. I was dripping and covered in sweat. I did not look good, I certainly did not smell good, and frankly I was slightly cranky. There is always that part of moving where you've moved a bunch of stuff out, and suddenly you don't even know how you did it, but you have even more stuff than before anything left the apartment. The normal laws of physics do not apply to moving. And neither do weather patterns.

I'm very excited about moving into my new place, when it finally happens. Lots of room, kitty space, the whole nine yards. And good roommates. This is key. I have had bad roommates before. I have been known to dine out on the spectacular weirdness of my previous roommates. So even though I knew Liz before agreeing to this, and met Julia, I think there was just as much checking out of each other, which reassures me. Or as my friend Martyn says "at that cheap a rent, who cares if you hate each other?" He has a point, but I need home to be a place I am happy to come to at the end of the day. Julia claims that if I cook the way I did for my party, she will do all my dishes. Hee hee. I don't think it will come to that, but still I'm happy about the move.

For a homeless chick, I have to say I'm really not doing too badly. Five stories and a jacuzzi. That jacuzzi felt incredibly good after two straight days of schelpping up and downstairs in such heat. I suppose I shouldn't kvetch so much about it. As I pointed out at the time, it could have been worse. It is far easier to move everything down the stairs than up the stairs. But yes, the jacuzzi did feel good. And the kids I'm looking after, while I have had my run ins with them before, are really behaving quite well. We've gone out on the river to see turtles and talk to scullers, and play and pretend like any young ones.

Love,
Anne